Sex Talk
by ellamequiere
Summary: Italy doesn't understand what's so great about sex.  France and Germany explain.


Ah, yes. A long day- several important telegrams, two meetings, and a seduction, and now, France was ready for a nice evening out. So when Italy invited him to a quiet bar, he thought sure, why not, and didn't back out even when he learned Germany was going to be there. There was nothing wrong with a little socializing, even if things had been tense recently. It would be nice to chat away from their bosses, right? Right.

So it was that the three nations found themselves sitting in a booth at the back of a little bar in Italy's countryside. Germany was taciturn, and even Italy was a little quiet. He wondered if it wasn't the first time he and Germany- let alone the three of them- had sat together outside of a diplomatic event since years before the war. France was running out of ways to keep the conversation running, when Italy startled them all by pointing at a man and a woman who were sitting close to each other, giggling and sharing sips of their drinks. "There it is again! It's everywhere."

France turned to the other nation, and glanced down at his glass- still half full, and it was only his second, right? Third? "What is everywhere, my friend?"

"Sex," said Italy, a look of uncharacteristic gloom on his face.

France glanced up at Germany, who had been silent so far this evening, but there was no help forthcoming from _that _block of wood. "Italy," he said gently, "you do know, don't you, that those people are _not_ having sex at this time?"

Italy rolled his eyes. "Of course. I'm not _stupid_." Wisely, France did not answer. "But they're going to. They will go home, and they will start doing that thing, and then they will stay in their bedroom for a very long time, ignoring their friends and making strange sounds..." A tear rolled down Italy's cheek. "And even if their little brothers really, really, really want to play, they will say, No, Feli, I am busy, even though they are not busy, they are just doing _that thing_ over and over, and what is so interesting about it anyway? You just take that thing and put it in that place, and then you take it out, and you go to sleep. Why are they ignoring me, just to do that stupid, boring thing?" He ended in a wail, and France looked around nervously, but the only other occupants of the bar were the couple, wrapped up enough in their own world that they didn't even appear to have heard Italy's tirade.

Putting the pieces together in his head, France nodded sagely, and put an arm around little Italy's shoulders. "Your brother has found a special someone, hasn't he?" Italy nodded tearfully. "Yes, little one, yes, I understand. Why, I remember when..." Germany looked at him curiously. France cleared his throat, and moved on. "But Italy, there is something you don't understand. Making love... it is a beautiful, beautiful thing. Your brother has just learned about all the wondrous things that his body can do. It is a very joyful time for him. Tell me, dear one, have you ever participated in this act?"

Italy shook his head, eyes wide. France shot a surprised look at Germany. Germany looked to the side, and took a big swig of his beer. "I know most of my provinces had- they're all really old, you know- and I have a few memories, but it's all very fuzzy..."

"Ah... Well, yes. This is why, perhaps, you do not understand. The act of love-making... Ah, Italy, there is nothing like it. The ultimate expression of tenderness and passion with another person, or, people-" Germany coughed, but France ignored him, "-it is a beautiful union, a connection, however fleeting, between two- or more- people who, for however long, truly love each other." France had loved every single woman he'd ever slept with, and most of the men. He had a lot of love to share. "There is nothing in this world that compares."

Germany had been getting redder and redder about the ears as France spoke. Beautiful union, ultimate expression of tenderness. Was that really what France had been thinking when they...? No, sex was just sex, particularly the kind of sex that one has on the table in one's older brother's house while he is away. Germany cleared his throat loudly.

France looked over at him, and smiled, kindly. "Don't you agree, Germany?"

Germany gathered his thoughts. "Yes, well. In, ah, addition to what our friend France has described for us, Italy, it is important that you understand the diversity of the activities involved in fornication." 'Fornication?' France mouthed, raising an eyebrow. Germany ignored him. "For example, despite your implication that sexual intercourse involves only the insertion of the penis into the vagina, the penis can in fact also be inserted into the mouth or the anus."

France spluttered, and reached out to cover Italy's ears. Italy ducked out of the way, and turned rapt, somewhat horrified eyes on Germany. Germany, settling comfortably into his role as instructor, continued. "In addition to such penetrative acts, activities such as genital rubbing, kissing, and stroking are both common and stimulating. These comprise the majority of mainstream sexual activity. However, they are by no means the only behaviors in which one can engage." By this point, France had his head in his hands, and was- though no one would ever know- blushing fiercely.

"What other behaviors can people engage in, Germany?" Italy asked, doubtfully.

"Well, among the most common alternative sexual practices are animalistic behaviors such as scratching and biting, restraint of one or both partners, roleplay of situations that one or both partners find titillating, hitting of one partner by the other with whips or crops-"

France had come back to himself. "Germany! That is quite enough. He does not need to be hearing this!"

"But France," said Italy, "I- I want to understand."

Germany, suddenly self-conscious, rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah. Well, Italy, what else would you like to know?"

"I want to know... How do you kiss?"

Germany blinked in surprise. France shook his head. No, no, Germany would not be the one to explain this to the boy, not in that clinical way- ugh, he could hardly stand it, the exquisite act of love described in so course a manner. "_I_ will show you, little Italy." The beginnings of a frown showed on Germany's face, an expression that turned to blatant alarm as France cupped the cheek of the third nation, and leaned in for a kiss. France kissed him slowly, sensually, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, biting it lightly. Slipped his tongue between lax lips, just briefly. Then again, more slowly, feeling the electric shock that ran through the boy when their tongues touched. He drew away, giving Italy his best "I have a secret" smile, and touching his cheek.

Germany shouldered France out of the way, frowning. He looked down at his ally- they were about the same age, really, but Italy had been living with others for so long... He wondered briefly if he really ought to do what he was planning to. Kisses, particularly first ones, should be special, shouldn't they? That was what his children seemed to think- but which of them, of the nations, had had that kind of experience? Better in a quiet bar with friends, then bleeding on a battlefield or as a newly conquered arrival in someone else's home. So he took Italy's face in his hands, met his eyes, and kissed him thoroughly. He kissed with all the intensity that he brought to the battlefield, to the world economy, to the advancement of science- he kissed with precision, and with force. Then he drew away, slightly breathless, and looked nervously back and forth between Italy and France, waiting for judgment to be passed.

Italy frowned, looking back and forth between the two men. "That was not the same at all," he pronounced, looking a little suspicious.

"Why no, dearest Italy, it is never the same twice, and every man kisses differently, just as every man has a different way of wielding a sword... But, I can assure you," and here, he looked at Germany, "that some of us have better, ah, technique than others."

Germany stood up, slamming his fist against the table. "That's it! France, I am sick to death of your constant implications that I am unsatisfactory as a lover. If you are so unhappy with my technique, why do you come back?"

France shrugged, sinuously. "Well, my dear _Allemagne,_ variety is the spice of life. You do no have the finesse of, say, the beautiful _Espagne_- a man after my own heart- but you do have a certain-"

Unnoticed by the other two, Italy's face had been growing darker and darker. At the mention of Spain- Spain, his friend!- he slammed his cup down on the table. "Everyone!" he shouted. "Everyone is doing it! Why are they all doing it! Why can't we all just draw together, and eat tasty food, and sing songs, like we used to?"

The two men turned to face him, looking him up and down- furtively, in Germany's case, and with relish, in France's. "It's true, my friend, we have not answered little _Italie's_ real question. 'What is so good about love-making,' he asks. I think we cannot tell him. I think we must show him." Germany's expression hardened. "It will be the most wonderful you will ever have felt," promised France, turning to face Italy, voice husky.

Italy's expression hovered somewhere between alarmed, interested, and irritated. It was Germany who stood. "France, you disreputable pig."

Italy nodded, expression settling on irritation. "You are all disreputable pigs! We will sit here, and we will have a nice evening, and we will _not say another word_ about _that thing_."

Germany nodded, and sat back down, slowly. It sounded safe enough. He spent the rest of the evening avoiding France's eyes, and the knowing, predatory look there.

* * *

AN: In the original version of the fic, Germany is a little more tractable. Sex ensues. Link in profile.


End file.
